Margaret's Tale
by Izzy
Summary: Jane AustenPatrick O'Brian crossover. Some time after the end of the AubreyMaturin series and 15 years after the events of Sense and Sensibility, Margaret Dashwood has lost both sister and lover in one fell swoop. Too old to find a new suitor easily, sh
1. A Bit of History

Izzy here, with my fanfic, "Margaret's Tale," a crossover of Aubrey/Maturin and Sense and Sensibility, inspired partly by The Pairings That Ate Fandom, Georgian/Regency edition, which I am trying to write before the characters from Persuasion barge in. Will eventually contain a small amount of slash. O'Brian has his estate, and Austen is out of copyright(I think). 

Margaret's Tale   
By Izzy   
Part 1:A bit of history 

On the day she turned twenty-five, August 1, 1816, Margaret Dashwood began to believe she would never marry. 

This was the ending of ten years of hopes on her part, since her second sister Marianne had married, and she had understood that before very long it would be her turn. 

She admired both of her sisters considerably for their choices. Elinor's had been Edward Ferrars, and their romance, for one with so many conditions of the world against it, had been surprisingly ordinary and unremarkable, but he was a very amiable man, one who cared for glory no more then Elinor did, and while at 14, when she had seen her eldest sister to the alter, Margaret had not thought she could ever have a romance like that, she saw so reason why Elinor should not. 

Both Marianne and their mother possessed a romantic imagination which Elinor lacked, though Margaret was certain it wasn't nearly as strong as hers, and Marianne's romantic history was one more along the lines of what Margaret would have liked for herself, though certainly not that particular history; there was one element in it that she could not stand the idea of herself indulging in. Marianne's heart had been broken at 17 by a scrub, and she had neglected her health so badly she had nearly died for love, and gratefully so. It was not that Margaret objected to dying for love, if it consisted of taking a bullet meant for the person one was dying for, or something similar. She might even countenance, in certain cases, the dying of grief because the person loved was dead. But to die because one had been rejected by such a villain as John Willoughby revealed himself to be by his method of destroying their connection alone, and Margaret was certain that by the time of her illness Marianne had known that he had gotten a young woman with child and abandoned her-it seemed to Margaret disgraceful and humiliating. Marianne had not cared how she looked to the world then; pride had meant nothing to her. But pride meant something to Margaret, at least she was certain it did. 

But the fate Marianne had come to was one Margaret thought the finest fate for her to come to. She had recovered, and two years later, she had married Colonel Brandon, which to start was appropriate revenge against Willoughby, as it had been his ward, the unfortunate Eliza Williams, whom Willoughby had used so badly. Were Margaret ever to marry an older man, it would be one like Colonel Brandon, a man who had been abroad, and who had suffered a tragic past, as he had been in love with Miss Williams' even more unfortunate mother in his youth. 

At 15 she had had the most intense fantasy of the man she would meet and fall in love with. He was usually young, with a rogue's looks. He had been everywhere in the world, and he thrilled her with tales of the Orient, and they would sound much more exotic then the dry army anecdotes that she had once eagerly listened to from Sir John Middleton, then tired of. He had an strange air of mystery about him, but one fateful day he would open himself to her and reveal his tragic secrets, because he would love her with a passion that could only be described as hot. After that fateful day, the engagement and wedding would be a matter of course. 

But this was not always her fantasy. Occasionally when she fantasized about the man, he was not young, but somewhere in his thirties, as Colonel Brandon had been when he had met and married Marianne. Indeed, he was much like the Colonel, though usually a year or so younger, and more handsome, though he need not have been as handsome as the younger version of himself. The air of mystery was thicker, darker, and amoung the secrets he would reveal would be that of a tragic love. After meeting Miss Williams, Margaret had suspected Marianne had reminded Colonel Brandon of her mother, and Mrs. Dashwood had once told her daughter that Colonel Brandon had loved Marianne from the moment he had seen her. Whether that was true Margaret did not know, but often the man she dreamed of was likewise reminded of the girl he had loved once by Margaret, and while the younger man was only besotted with Margaret from the first moment of seeing her the majority of the time, the older man always was. 

With this dream guiding her, Margaret had danced away 15 and 16 at the Middletons' residence, but at 17, when she had begun to grow more serious about finding a husband, she had bit by bit given it up. She had instead completed as much education as it was in her mother's power to give to her and debuted in London at 19 under the guidance of Lady Middleton, whom she did not at all like, but whom she had managed to please nonetheless by the attention she paid to her children, whom both Elinor and Marianne had dismissed at spoiled brats, which they were; Margaret's genuine affection for them was in spite of this. Lady Middleton might not have actually liked Margaret very much; she thought her sisters had been too much of an influence on her, and instilled such qualities that she did not like, such as a love of reading, but she had no objection to her strong enough to forfeit the advantages of being her chaperone. 

At this time Margaret was no great beauty when it came to her features, though they were fair enough and in full bloom. Her appeal lay instead in her grace, though this was not the normal elegance that is normally searched for and praised, and in fact Lady Middleton had hoped would develop with maturity, but instead a bordering on boisterous, almost wild way of moving that suited her feisty nature very well and gave her a strong air of innocence. Her manners were not nearly as good as Lady Middleton would have liked, but Sir John had commented early on that Margaret would attract a certain type of man who would not be looking for the typical qualities young ladies displayed to attract men, but who would also be less likely to care about Margaret's lack of dowry. He was convinced such romantic men existed in all ranks of society, and she hoped they would find one with a large amount of wealth and social connection. She was confident if a good enough man could only be found, and his attraction to Margaret was indeed as inevitable as Sir John said it was, or indeed if it merely happened by good fortune, Margaret's willingness to marry him would also be inevitable, for it did not occur to her that a penniless young woman might not care how much money a suitor had. 

As it happened, however, Lady Middleton was not the only one that hoped for the chaperone's benefit of Margaret marrying well. Mrs. Lucy Ferrars had, from the time her brother-in-law's marriage to Elinor had given her the right to call Margaret a relation, been calculating Margaret's use to herself, and had been planning to write to Mrs. Dashwood suggesting she invite her daughter to stay with her and her husband when she made the horrifying discovery that Lady Middleton had snatched the girl from under her nose. She was exceedingly angry, but knew she could introduce Margaret to a number of people Lady Middleton did not know, some of which were of higher rank then anyone Lady Middleton could introduce Margaret to, and she had used this advantage to claim as much of Margaret as she could. A bitter rivalry had developed between the two women, which Margaret at first had attempted to remain detached from. 

But Margaret had always harboured a very strong dislike for Edward's sister-in-law, who had once been engaged to Edward himself, and used him, and Margaret suspected Elinor, very badly. When her view of Lady Middleton as the far lesser of two evils had prompted Margaret to act, she had shortly made it very clear to Lucy Ferrars that she preferred Lady Middleton's company, and Lucy, who was rightly convinced that Margaret did not like Lady Middleton, so there was no question of her behavior being anything but a rejection of Lucy herself, had developed the strongest resentment 

Sir John Middleton had been right in believing Margaret attracted a certain kind of man, and early in her twentieth year, she had managed, over the space of seven days, to attract two young men of fierce hearts and fiercer tempers, one a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, the second a lieutenant in the army. Perhaps if only one of them had happened to see her, she would have happily agreed to marry him, but when first one then the other approached, and Margaret had been strongly drawn to both of them, she had not known what to do. She had, much to Lady Middleton's disapproval, allowed both their attentions, believing that in a short while she would develop a preference for one of them. But instead to her complete confusion and dismay, she found herself falling for both, until she was terrified to encourage either one further due to her feelings for the other. 

But by then it was too late; each knew the other had gained some success on his ground, and with the traditional mutual jealousies of the army and the navy, soon an insult was given, and answered with a challenge, and Margaret and Lady Middleton had been accosted by the army lieutenant one evening with the news that he had met the navy lieutenant over pistols and killed him. Margaret, in a mix of grief, guilt, and horror, had willingly echoed Lady Middleton's request that he not attempt any contact with either of them in the future, and on seeing her so stricken, he had become convinced that she had in fact been in love with the other man, and gone away in despair. But his heart, though perhaps it could have known constancy to a welcoming woman, could not stay true in the face of too long-lasting a rejection, and a year later he married another woman. 

In the end, noone else had believed Margaret very attached to either, but that she had acted as she had partly out of foolishness and partly to defy Lady Middleton. Lady Middleton believed Margaret's sisters to have had a hand in it, while Margaret's family believed Lady Middleton had driven Margaret to it with her own behavior, and as neither saw any need to address the other on the subject, noone saw any reason to alter their opinions. Margaret, ashamed of the weakness of her heart the affair had revealed to her, did not attempt to alter them either. 

But Lucy had known little and cared less about the actual reasons for Margaret's behavior. She instead used it to spread malicious gossip about Margaret, so while Lady Middleton had hoped Margaret's young age might make her marriage prospects last longer, they were instead cut short, and a year after the disaster, she had despaired of ever marrying Margaret off well. 

Still Margaret had gone to London for three more years. But at 24 she had found herself with a mother whose health was starting to fail, and she insisted on staying at home to care for her. 

She began to contemplate her life as it lay before her, living with her mother trying to give her proper care when between the two of them they had only 400 pounds a year. She soon began to understand that with two married sisters, and Lady Middleton placated by the Margaret's continuing affection for her children, her life would be that of an Aunt, and as Elinor and Edward had no children she soon determined to become as devoted as she could to the Brandons' two daughters. And so when an outbreak of disease in Delaford claimed them both, Margaret's grief was next to only that of their parents. 

This grief was noted by the new parson in Barton, a man about 30 years of age named George Templeton. He met with her often in the hopes of preventing any spiritual damage an excess of feeling might cause, but instead found himself falling in love, for while Margaret's bloom had by then faded and her strong spirit had been much weighed down by her situation in life, she was still attractive, if to a very different man then the two she had drawn to her in London. He made up his mind to woo and win her, and proved successful, as her years had brought her to appreciate a simple, straightforward, noble-hearted man, and at the age of 27, she was overcome with both relief and joy to be engaged. 

George Templeton and Edward Ferrars shortly became good friends, and early in the September of 1818, a month before the wedding was to take place, George paid a visit to the Ferrars in Delaford, though Margaret did not accompany him, as her mother had taken a turn for the worse and needed constant care. She had already insisted that Mrs. Dashwood live with them after the marriage, but Mrs. Dashwood only told her daughter not to worry herself too much over her poor old mother. "I shall die happy when you are married," she said to Margaret. 

The visit went by happily, and concluded with all three of them spending an evening with the Brandons, who had newly regained a level of domestic felicity that they had lost with the death of their children. Marianne even expressed the hope of having another child soon, "Though I don't know who would take care of me during the confinement, with the physician within reasonable distance having died so recently." The next morning, Elinor agreed to ride with George to Barton to see her sister and mother. 

They were more then half-way to Barton when an unexpectedly heavy rainstorm hit, and the accidently pairing of an inexperienced driver and an usually intemperate horse resulted in a loss of control that caused the coach to topple onto its side and be dragged on its side for a number of meters before the driver was able to stop it. When he went to check on his passengers, he found George dead. Elinor survived long enough to be carried the rest of the way to Barton before dying in her mother's living room. 

Margaret's first thought was that if her mother found this out in her current state of health, she would almost certainly die of the grief. On her own she arranged for the body to be carried back to Delaford to be buried in the churchyard there, and for George's body to be retrieved and buried at Barton, and she begged those that conducted the funeral to be as quiet as possible, so that her mother would not suspect anything amiss. She herself attended neither funeral; she was unable to leave her mother's side even for the length of George's, let alone the journey to Elinor's. 

Often she thought of a letter she had read by the ancient Roman Pliny the Younger, writing about a woman who concealed the death of their son from her sick husband. "Then when her tears, having been restrained so long, would have overcome her and burst forth, she would take leave of her husband, then give in to her grief, then return with her eyes dried and her face composed to satisfaction, as though she had left her childless state at her husband's door." It was not as bad for Margaret, as while the woman in question had had to describe to her husband how the child was getting better, Elinor's visit was intended as a surprise so the lack of her need not be explained, and with George having planned to handle almost all the remaining business of the wedding it was easy to invent troubles to keep him away, until Mrs. Dashwood apologized for making what should be an exquisite time for Margaret so unromantic. But on the other hand, she dared not cry anywhere near the cottage where her mother might overhear her, so when she could be sure her mother could be left to sleep attended by only the maid she would walk out a safe distance and lament whole-heartedly for her sister and lover. 

Her isolation weighed hopelessly on her, but she could not trust Sir John Middleton or his mother-in-law to keep the secret and did not want Lady Middleton's company, so while all three called briefly to pay their respects, she begged them to stay away until her mother was recovered, saying she feared their being there would make her mother suspicious that something was wrong. On the same excuse she turned away all visitors from Delaford, with a promise to write as soon as they could come. 

But as October approached, Mrs. Dashwood began to anticipate her daughter's wedding, and hope recovered her enough that Margaret felt it safe to break the news to her. 

The knowledge of her eldest daughter being dead and the all the hopes of her youngest being so cruelly dashed could not help but hurt her condition, but the next day she demanded to see Marianne, and Margaret wrote for her to come. Marianne arrived with both her husband and Edward, and the three of them insisted on taking over Mrs. Dashwood's care. "We have each of us lost only one person to leave us desolate, but you have lost two." Marianne told her. "And even if our losses were equal to yours, you have already done too much." 

Thankfully Mrs. Dashwood's relapse was a brief one. When she was strong enough to leave her bed in the first week of October, the Middletons and Mrs. Jennings called again, and despite the cottage being crowded Edward and the Brandons lingered, until Colonel Brandon discovered he had business that required him to go to London, and it could not be put off very long. 

His first thought was to go to London alone, and leave his wife with her mother and sister. But when he suggested this to her, she refused to let him go alone. "I may be giving into fears," she said, "but so soon after losing my sister I don't want to let you out of my sight, especially not by way of a carriage. It is bad enough that my mother and I are always apart and she in such ill health. And do you think I can do without you now? I miss too much during the best of times, and now, with such a misery as I must feel..." she was unable to go on for her distress, for while she had shed countless tears for her sister she had not yet run out of them, and for some time she merely lay in her husband's arms crying. 

When she had calmed somewhat she continued, "Though I do admit it is not only my mother whom I am loath to leave. Edward holding his misery in the way he does I have no idea how he is. And we cannot take him with us, of course, because I absolutely will not leave Margaret alone here again. Now that she no longer has to hold her misery in for her mother's sake it pours forth from her, and if left alone with only poor mama, she might do herself harm." 

"Perhaps we should take her to London with us." he suggested. 

She laughed bitterly and said, "I would so gladly, but I do not think she would ever consent to go. She does not even visit Delaford very often anymore." 

Mrs. Dashwood happened to overhear this conversation, and she immediately approached her daughter and son-in-law with her opinion that they should take both Edward and Margaret to London with them. "But that would leave you completely alone!" was Marianne's instant protest. 

"I will have the servants to take care of me," said Mrs. Dashwood, "and I am quite all right. I think I will be for quite some time now. Meanwhile Margaret must get out of this cottage. She has been too selfless for too long. And Edward confessed to me that he doesn't want to go back to his parish yet. He speaks of the memories it contains being too painful. But he has memories of here as well, even if he didn't mention them for my sake. He and Elinor have spent almost no time in London together; it is safe for him to go there. And if Margaret will not go she must be persuaded to. If Edward is willing to help persuade her, surely she cannot hold out against all four of us?" 

Some more words persuaded the Brandons that Mrs. Dashwood would be just fine on her own for several months if need be, and after getting Edward to agree to come to London, the four of them set upon Margaret, who, stunned by how determined they were, was forced to give in. Still she worried constantly about her mother's welfare, to the point where, when the Brandons insisted she was going with them in their carriage, Edward agreed to stay at Barton for another week after their departure, to lessen the time when she would be alone. 

It was still early in October, almost a month after Elinor and George's deaths, when the Brandons and Margaret set off. Sir John Middleton and Mrs. Jennings both showed up to see them off, and Mrs. Dashwood, despite the concern to her health, insisted on coming out to kiss her daughters before they got into the carriage. 

"Don't worry about me," her mother told her as she kissed Margaret. "I cannot die now, for I told you I can die happy when you are married, and that is still true." 

"Then I fear you may have to live forever," was her daughter's response. "At any rate you know what damage has been done; I cannot expect to find a husband in London, especially not as I am now." 

"Lucy Ferrars." Her mother's face hardened as she said the name, in a way it rarely did. "I do not like to wish ill on people, but I cannot say I would not be satisfied to see her as penniless a widow as I am, but without the happiness I am still lucky enough to possess. Yes, we still possess it, Margaret. We have lost Elinor, true, but I still have two beautiful daughters, and you a sister and two men more brothers to you then your real brother. Do not despair, Margaret. One never knows what may collide into your path." 

But it was very hard for Margaret not to feel despair, on the long road to London with nothing to distract her. In the first days after losing Elinor and George, despair had entered her life for the first time. She had been able to ward it off in the disappointments of her early twenties simply by living day to day, and she had decided then that the best weapon against misery was industry, and misery and industry had waged war within her until her tasks had been taken out of her hands, and she had had nothing to do but be miserable. She had given in to the pleas of her mother, sister, and two brother-in-laws, but remaining privately convinced she would in fact remain happier at home, reading and caring for her mother. 

When she had been younger, she had thoughts the delights of London could make her forget any trouble, but by the end of her search for a husband, the miseries she had experienced at the hands of fashionable society had prevented her from taking any pleasure in anything the town had to offer. She understood it likely their visit would last into the new year, and she anticipated nothing in the coming months but joyless social rituals in between hours of boredom where she had nothing to do put ponder her dismal future, taunted by her surroundings. 

This seemed more likely her fate for the stay in London when on the third afternoon the carriage passed through the countryside just outside London, and Margaret wondered just where in these fields, eight years ago, a navy lieutenant had met his death because of her. 

This thought sank her into such a myriad of thoughts, that she did not pay attention to the swift clip-clip-clopping of a second carriage, or the angry yell of their driver, until she heard a scream and the felt the impact of something heavy hitting their carriage. Her first thought was that she was going to die the same way her sister had, her second on how surprisingly indifferent she was to this, but then the carriage settled still upright, and she heard a loud rattling, a harsh voice yell, "Sophie, jump!" a scream, three thumps, the sound of rustling grass, a fourth thump, and a crash. 

Their carriage had stopped, and Colonel Brandon got out. Marianne stepped out to join him and Margaret inched towards the door, spotting the second carriage on its side, while a small man dressed in black with an ugly wig and a severe expression appeared to be examining a driver's leg. 

"No damage," she heard Colonel Brandon say. "My dear sir, madam, I apologize." 

"No need, that was not your fault. This is not the first time in the past few years I have found myself with a reckless driver." The man in black spared his driver another glare before saying to someone out of Margaret's line of sight, "Thankfully we have no broken bones." 

Margaret poked her head directly out, and the man's gaze fell on her as she stepped lightly out of the carriage, stumbled, and quickly regained her footing. A memory popped into her mind: Lucy commenting how prettily she stumbled, making the veiled suggestion that Margaret had taught herself to do it to attract men, and she suddenly willed herself not to blush. 

It took another second for her to realize the man was probably looking at her because he was observing that she, like the other two, was dressed in black. A third second and she had observed that he and his two companions were dressed in black as well. They consisted of a woman and a grizzled old man whom Margaret assumed to be a servant. 

"Do you happen to be mourning anyone?" Marianne then asked. 

The woman replied, "My husband." Margaret noted she seemed much older then either herself or Marianne, though younger then Colonel Brandon. The man might have been the same age, but between his sallow face and wig it was difficult to tell. "And you?" she then asked. 

"Their sister. I am Colonel Brandon. This is my wife and her sister, Miss Dashwood." He bowed, the other man did the same. "Dr. Maturin at your service, and the lady is Mrs. Aubrey. Now, may I beg for your aid? My carriage is broken and the driver has sprained his ankle." 

"You must ride with us," said Marianne. "There is room if we all squeeze ourselves and your manservant sits with the driver." 

There was room, but barely, with Dr. Maturin sitting in the front with Colonel Brandon and his injured driver, and the three ladies in the back, Margaret pressed up against the side. 

The carriage started moving again, and Colonel Brandon asked, "What is your destination in London?" 

Mrs. Aubrey answered. "The Grapes, an inn on the western side of the Savoy. May we invite you all there to dine with us? I believe the hour is approaching four."

* * *

To Be Continued... 


	2. Those of Admiral Aubrey

Margaret's Tale   
By Izzy   
Part 2:Those of Admiral Aubrey 

The Grapes was a small, comfortable inn in the Savoy, which Dr. Maturin kept a room in year round, as he explained to Colonel Brandon. The landlady knew him very well; when they came in she greeted him warmly, saying that she had heard about the Admiral and she was very sorry and did Mrs. Aubrey want a room as well and were these people friends of the Admiral and why were they all wearing black? And then she was joined by two black girls whom Stephen introduced as his god-daughters, Sarah and Emily, and who under the landlady's direction took the driver away, while Stephen explained that Mrs. Aubrey would like a room, but the other three were merely dining with them. He introduced them, but on being asked again if they were friends of the Admiral, or of his, he shook his head and said, "No, Mrs. Broad, they are fellow mourners, but they mourning someone else entirely, and we have just made acquaintance in a slightly unorthodox manner." 

Mrs. Broad did not seem to think this at all odd, and as she left with Mrs. Aubrey's manservant, whom apparently was called Killick, they distinctly heard her mutter to him, "Well, it's one of the less strange things he's done." They were now all seated together comfortably, with the promise of dinner as soon as it was ready. 

"Admiral Aubrey?" asked Margeret. "You don't mean, by any chance, John Aubrey? The man who took a 32-gun frigate with only a 14-gun sloop?" 

Mrs. Aubrey nodded. "Have you heard of him?" 

"Why," laughed Marianne, "As a girl, when my sister wasn't pretending to be a pirate, I think she was pretending to be him much of the time!" 

"So you know a good deal about him?" 

But Margaret lowered her head, and said, "No. It wasn't too long after I first read about him that my family became a good deal poorer, and I could no longer read very many newspapers. My knowledge of him ends with his taking of the Fanciulla. I am glad to hear he became an Admiral. May I beg you to tell me a bit more about him?" A hesitation, and Margaret felt her impertinence. "That is, if it would not be...that is to say..." She wished dearly then she had held her tongue, for Mrs. Aubrey was looking very low. 

"No, that is all right." Dr. Maturin sounded low as well, but he managed a slight smile. "I would be honoured to tell you about him." 

He started with Jack Aubrey's earliest successes in said 14-gun sloop, the Sophie. as the three of them only knew of his taking said 32-gun frigate, and of the Fanciulla in a notoriously defective ship with a crew of raw landsmen. Here it came up that Aubrey's first command and his wife shared a name, and Mrs. Aubrey informed them her Christian name was in fact Sophia, "but he asked to call me Sophie immediately," and there was much laughter. 

But this was only the beginning, and Margaret was shocked on how little informed she had actually been, to not even know that he had been struck from the Navy List and then reinstated. They spoke a good deal more on the man's accomplishments then the man himself, but out of sympathy noone pointed this out. Still, there was a great deal more laughter, as neither Dr. Maturin nor Mrs. Aubrey always entirely understood what they were talking about; she often fell back on quoting her husband's letters to her, and he on what he had seen without actually comprehending, he being magnificently ignorant on all matters naval despite having sailed with the Admiral from the year 1801, and while he was not amused as his own ignorance she was, and by the time they were ending the narration with the activities of the South Africa squadron, he was smiling tolerably at the other four's peals of laughter. 

Dinner had been served at this point, and Dr. Maturin was attempting to demonstrate a battle between three ships from the squadron and a large pirate ship with pieces of bread, which was apparently a common practice. "The _Implacable_ here was a match for the ship..." 

"If the other two ships were smaller, shouldn't the bread pieces be smaller?" Marianne pointed out. Dr. Maturin's response was a reproachful look, but then Mrs. Aubrey removed one of them and replaced it with a smaller one, and she put the new piece far more behind the other two then he had "When you showed the battle to Hen, I think the _Meleager_ was there." 

"No, I was quite certain it was there." 

They argued about this until Margaret cleared her throat, and Stephen continued, leaving the _Meleager_ where it was. "As I was saying, the Implacable was a match for the pirates, and so we were of course more then a match for her, except that she had the weather-gage." 

"And you're sure you can't remember exactly what that means?" Margaret interrupted him. This had been a disappointment to her, as she had known the term "weather-gage" from a very young age but had never had any real idea what it meant, and she would dearly have liked to know. 

"I told you, Miss Dashwood, all I can be sure of is that it has something to do with the wind and it means the pirates were able to control the fight. But even so the Admiral gave some orders-something about tacking maybe, I'm not sure..." He tapped his fingers against the table, sending the _Meleager_ flying until it was a good distance from the other three ships. 

"Perhaps Mrs. Aubrey could say," suggested Colonel Brandon. "Did her husband not write such details to her in his letters?" 

But Mrs. Aubrey shook her head, and Dr. Maturin's face darkened, and he said, "He never got the chance to write about this particular battle." 

"That's how he died?" asked Margaret, unnecessarily. 

"One of their shots took out our mizzenmast-I believe it was the mizzenmast."("It was," said Mrs. Aubrey.) "There was a shower of wood, and he was caught in it. I did all I could, but in the end it wasn't enough to stop him from bleeding to death. He knew it before he lost consciousness. At least he also knew we had taken the pirate ship. I told him he had done his duty, he smiled and replied, 'Thank God.' He died like Lord Nelson." 

Silence fell on the table, the bread crumbs themselves forgotten. Then Mrs. Aubrey said, "But you have told us nothing of your sister, this Mrs. Ferrars. Though, you do not mean Mrs. Robert Ferrars?" 

"You know Robert Ferrars?" asked Marianne. "No," she added after a moment before Mrs. Aubrey could answer. "Not his wife, his brother Edward's was my sister." 

"Well then, I am glad Mrs. Robert Ferrars was not your sister, for I know more of her then I do her husband. Or rather, Mrs. Maturin, my cousin, was acquainted with her, and she did not speak very well of her." 

"Rest assured you may say what you wish of Mrs. Robert Ferrars and we will not take offense." Marianne said. She bit her lip, almost as if she wished to say more. Margaret took over for her. "She used Edward Ferrars very badly, and we love him, as we do not love his brother. He will be joining us in London in a week, if you would like to meet him." For a moment she wondered if it was at all her place to extend this invitation, but while she did not say it, she was fascinated by this particular friend of her childhood hero and wished dearly the see him again. 

But then the Brandons repeated the invitation, and Dr. Maturin and Mrs. Aubrey graciously accepted it. "I am glad for it," she said, "as we have business here concerning my husband's legacy that will keep us in London until the end of November, and I know very few people here. But as I was saying, tell me about your sister." 

Most of the rest of the evening's conversation was about Elinor. Marianne did most of the talking, only occasionally bursting into tears, and this was allowed by everyone at the table. Margaret listened a good deal herself; she had not realized until then how much she had missed of the going-ons of her two sisters within the past couple of years, and she was filled with a regret and a determination to visit Delaford more often in the future. 

They parted outside the Grapes in the evening after helping Dr. Maturin and Mrs. Aubrey remove their dunnage from the carriage, and were most friendly. Both of them stood on the pavement and Margaret leaned out of the carriage and waved goodbye to them before they turning the corner and headed for the Brandons' lodgings on Bond street. 

The dinner at the Grapes had not been too short, and Marianne yawned and said, "Well, that was splendid. I do not think I have felt this cheerful since..." she trailed off, took a deep breath, blinked hard several times, then began again. "Certainly Mrs. Aubrey is so very friendly, and I do not think it impossible that I should call on her again even before Edward comes." 

"And what of Dr. Maturin?" Margaret asked. 

Marianne sighed, and said, "It is not that I dislike him, not by any means, but he did strike me as a bit odd. Perhaps he is different when not suffering his current loss, as he and the Admiral were clearly very, very dear to each other, but I do not think I ever met a man so quiet, and I have met many quiet men." 

"Do you think there is anything wrong with being quiet?" Margaret asking, glancing at Colonel Brandon as she did so. He was in the back of the carriage, not entirely awake, as he sometimes tired in the evenings, especially when traveling. 

"Oh no, not at all! I have not described it right, no. It is more as if he seems to truly say nothing at all beyound anything I have seen. All that time he was telling us about the Admiral, he was talking and talking and saying absolutely nothing. That alone I've seen before, but usually the talker brings thoughts to your mind about himself. He means not to reveal anything, but he does so anyway. Dr. Maturin I literally do not know what to think. No, that doesn't explain it properly either." She gave up attempting to explain, and both sisters were left to their thoughts. 

Just before they woke Colonel Brandon, Marianne said again, "In truth, there was something about him, which I cannot even identify, let alone explain, that kept me from warmer feelings towards him." 

All three of them went to bed immediately, but Margaret did not sleep for some time. Dr. Maturin stayed on her mind. She had wondered, after Marianne had spoken, if the same qualities that had put her sister off of him had interested Margaret beyound her initial delight at meeting such an important figure from the life of Jno. Aubrey. But mostly she marveled in the thought of this itself. A man who had been on every one of his ships, witnessed each of his victories, bound up all of his battle wounds. A man who had known that great mind, known the man behind the leader of men, shared his joy and comforted him in his sorrows, stood by his side when the world had turned against him(and it had more then once, according to Dr. Maturin's narration). How she longed to see him again! 

But she did not see him again for the entirety of the following week. Colonel Brandon was quite busy, and neither she nor Marianne found themselves in much of a mood for going out much of the time, though Margaret forced herself into occupation as much as she could, writing home to her mother, mending anything torn she could find in the house, and reading through the collection of books the Brandons kept in town. But now that regret had found her, it proved very difficult to ward off. She often caught herself letting her head and hands fall idle, to contemplate on how she could have allowed George a quicker courtship, a sooner understanding, or managed to visit her sisters at this time or that time when she instead had not left home. Nor was Dr. Maturin absent from her thoughts. It was the quietest times of day when he would steal upon her mind, and she would recall how much time there still was to pass before the promised visit. 

When Edward arrived a day early, having been urged to an early departure by Mrs. Dashwood, she had to hold herself back from suggesting Mrs. Aubrey and Dr. Maturin be invited a day earlier, instead of giving Edward an extra day to rest before preparing himself for company. 

But as it happened, he was not granted this before he was forced to be in the company of that person who could be the least pleasant company of all for him. Lucy Ferrars called less then half an hour after his arrival, though she was genuinely surprised to find him there, having had no more reason then anyone else to believe he would be in London before the following day. She had in fact timed her visit to avoid him. 

She dealt with seeing him remarkably well, greeting him with all the warmth his situation required of a sister-in-law, giving her consolations, calling him, "My dear, dear brother," and asking how he was most solicitously. His answers were short, bordering on rude, but she took no notice. 

She gave her consolations also to the other three, and inquired after Mrs. Dashwood's health, as well as the health of everyone at Barton and Delaford, and looked positively alarmed to hear from Edward, who had stopped briefly in Delaford before journeying to London, that Miss Williams had been looking out of sorts again. The Brandons looked even more alarmed, and Edward was quick to reassure them that he did not think it was anything serious. "It has been a while since she has had a letter from her son. The next one should set her to rights, I think." 

"Poor, poor, Miss Williams." said Mrs. Ferrars, but now they were obliged to inquire first after Robert, then after her children, and she had been there a quarter of an hour when she had managed to annoy both sisters by going into a great amount of detail of the illness of her youngest daughter, until Marianne asked if she intended to stay very long. 

Mrs. Ferrars very narrowly avoided reddening at this remark, and admitted, to the surprise of none of the other four, that no, she had enjoyed their company so much she had forgotten the time, but she really could not stay. "I have been horribly busy these last few days, but with the losses you have suffered I felt I must see you all, and I also wished to extend an invitation." 

She then went on to explain that a good number of people she was acquainted with had all coincided in their visits to town, and she was having a party in three days time. "Pray consider it, Mrs. Brandon, I am sure your sister would not want to see you moping around at home all of the time; she was a woman of the highest sense." 

Marianne did not return Mrs. Ferrars' false warmth, saying merely that they would of course consider it, and Mrs. Ferrars took her leave. "Do we go?" Marianne asked when she was gone. 

Edward was for, Margaret against. Colonel Brandon suggested that they consider it as they said they would, and they agreed this idea was the best. 

Marianne finally got around to calling on Mrs. Aubrey the following day, and was away for a surprising length of time, during which Margaret was stunned by her own agitation, and by the intensity of her disappointment when Marianne returned with the news that Mrs. Aubrey was coming alone, Dr. Maturin being too occupied in their business in London. Only then did she face that she had longed to see him again as ardently as a lover, though of course her feelings for him were nothing of the sort; indeed, she thought her eagerness more suited to the child who had worshiped Aubrey. 

Mrs. Aubrey arrived not very long after breakfast, and she and Edward gave each other their warmest sympathies. She then asked if Edward had any children, and was surprised to hear he did not. She herself had two daughters who were nearing completion of their education, and a son who was a midshipman on the HMS Charlotte. "If you do not mind my asking, how long were you and your wife married?" 

"Thirteen years." He smiled, his first smile since Elinor's death. "During which my brother-in-law often mocked me for my lack of children, while he had five. Though I don't know if I would have been as happy with children. I was never certain of how to raise them." 

"Is anyone ever certain before they have them?" said Colonel Brandon. Mrs. Aubrey then asked after the Brandons' situation, and more sympathies were given. "I have been very lucky." she said at last. "To have lost none. There was one time with Fanny that I think she came very close to dying, and my husband away in the Baltic, the Maturins in Sweden, and when I related her symptoms to the Doctor upon his return, he marveled that she should have survived. But my husband always had tremendous constitution, and my mother withstood many illnesses, so perhaps we should not have been so surprised." 

"My wife was of good constitution as well," said Edward. "I can only remember her being ill once. As for my mother...well, I have not seen her in a good while, and as she is not in town, I do not expect to, and I know surprisingly little on how she does." He fell silent, as his next words must necessarily be ill towards the elder Mrs. Ferrars. "But at least she is still alive; you speak as if yours is not." 

"No," said Mrs. Aubrey, "she died in the same accident as Mrs. Maturin." 

"Your mother, cousin, and husband within a few years of each other," murmured Marianne. "Why, you are even more surrounded by loss then my sister." 

Mrs. Aubrey smiled, and replied, "And you to lose a sister and two daughters within a few years of each other. We are all of us surrounded by loss, Mrs. Brandon." 

"Have you seen any of your family since your arrival in London, Mr. Ferrars?" she asked after a second's pause. "Your brother, perhaps?" 

"His wife." answered Edward, and here he let a little coldness slip into his voice. "She invited us to a party tomorrow night." 

"She sent Dr. Maturin and I an invitation as well," laughed Mrs. Aubrey. "I accepted it, but I wonder if I should have. Did you accept yours?" 

Marianne must have seen the look on Margaret's face, because she said, "We didn't give her an answer. I suppose none of us really want to go, truth be told." 

"But if we don't go, they may be all alone there," Margaret protested. "You said you knew very few people in town, did you not?" 

This was not was Marianne was expecting, and she said, "Well, Margaret, you were the one who said you were against it. Have you changed your mind?" 

"If we can keep these good people company." answered Margaret. She could not bring herself to confess that her words were spurred by no disinterested generousity, but that instead her heart was leaping at the thought of seeing Dr. Maturin again after all. 

A few more words around and as Mrs. Aubrey delightedly watched, the four of them settled on accepting the invitation, and Marianne declared that she should write their acceptance and send it off immediately, though she supposed this meant them bidding their farewells. This they did with a pair of "Until tomorrow night"s, and all the genuine warmth that had been completing lacking from their interview with Mrs. Ferrars two days ago, and that night at dinner Marianne expressed a wish that all visitors could be like Mrs. Aubrey. "Under no obligation to come, doing so merely because she wants to, and oh, so friendly. I had dreaded Lucy's party but now I think I shall enjoy it very much." 

"I think she has a very good heart," Edward agreed. "I will be glad to see her again as well." 

When she went to bed that night, Margaret wondered if any of them besides her were interested in seeing Dr. Maturin. It took her a good deal of time to fall asleep, during which she was astonished to hear what sounded like Edward crying. Of course, Edward had every reason to cry, but he hadn't before this. He'd slept in the room next to hers at Barton, and she'd never heard him. 

Perhaps he too had been too busy to properly grieve, as she had been. Of course, she had grieved anyway, but she had always been far more given to emotion then he had. 

It was hard lying there, listening to him and being unable to think of a way to help him. To distract herself Margaret tried to contemplate the emotional behavior of everyone she knew, starting with her two sisters(though thinking about Elinor is such a calm manner was still difficult). They were obvious: Marianne, though age had calmed her somewhat, still reacted passionately to relatively small things, while almost no tragedy could have disturbed Elinor's stiff upper lip. The only time Margaret had seen her cry, it had been with tears of happiness. Though Margaret was certain she'd cried for the Brandon girls, and she merely hadn't seen that. 

Both of her brothers-in-law tended to have a calm exterior; Edward's behavior over the last month was testament enough to this. But she had at times seen both of them let their guard slip, and Colonel Brandon made no attempt at all to hide his tenderness where his wife was concerned. Margaret secretly suspected he had been far more openly passionate in his youth, and that age had closed him. Though age did not close everyone; Margaret did not think it had done much to her mother. 

Yet perhaps age had taken its toll on Dr. Maturin and Mrs. Aubrey? Of course, it was impossible to tell anything on such short acquaintance with them. But as Margaret though further, she decided it was unlikely Dr. Maturin had ever been openly emotional. She had seen Elinor be less closed up with people she very much disliked. Concealment such as that Dr. Maturin practiced, perhaps unconsciously, simply could not be built up over a lifetime. It had to be inborn, somehow. 

What kind of friendship had he and Admiral Aubrey really had? She still knew very little about the Admiral. But then, that he had loved the Admiral dearly could not be disputed. He would have had to be a creature made of ice to conceal that from anyone who listened to him speak about him. Perhaps it had simply been loyalty; Margaret knew that the finest officers always had followers; in the Navy they would follow a captain from ship to ship, and Dr. Maturin had even mentioned one or two names more then once in his accounts, obviously some of the Admiral's followers. Was Dr. Maturin merely the most constant of them? 

But then, that would not explain why he was traveling around with Mrs. Aubrey, or why they seemed to be on such intimate terms. No, clearly there was some element of friendship beyound mere loyalty. 

If Admiral Aubrey actually had got past his boundaries, he was a more remarkable man then even little Margaret had imagined. And if it could be done...Margaret had a brief fancy of she herself doing it, but a second later she dismissed it. She was not 16 anymore, and she knew better then to just assume that older man, or younger man, for that matter, from her fantasies would simply love her so much he would have to reveal everything to her. And when it came to that, why would he even be attracted to her anymore? Men with dark pasts weren't attracted to old maids. 

And of course she was assuming he had a dark past. Given how many men in the world really had dark pasts that was unlikely at best. 

She felt even more like an old maid when she dressed for Mrs. Ferrars' party the following evening. Margaret Dashwood had two evening dresses, and she cared to wear neither of them. She had only brought one of them to London, the older one, a pale green thing, approaching ten years of age, which she knew would attract unflattering stares and have Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny Dashwood, who was certain to be there, chattering away about their unfortunate unmarried relation for days. Lack of any black evening wear had forced her to put off mourning garb, unlike Marianne, who did have a black evening gown and was wearing it, but she tied her hair up with a black cloth, and tried to convince herself that her hair, which had never quite consented to be put in order, did not look absolutely appalling. 

She had almost succeeded when she saw her sister. Even after two pregnancies Marianne cut a finer figure then her sister, her looks, though no longer young by any means, were still very fine-her beautiful complexion was unchanged, and her hair behaved perfectly. She would be much more beautiful then Mrs. Ferrars, and for this Margaret was glad.

* * *

To Be Continued... 


End file.
